Little Bird
by Pipwise Brandygin
Summary: It's Bilbo's birthday, and Pippin has a few questions for Gandalf.


Disclaimer: characters, places etc. all belong to Tolkien.  
  
A/N: Pippin is eight, Merry is sixteen, and Gandalf preferred not to say.

**Little Bird  
**  
"When's your birthday, Gandalf?" the smallest guest at Bilbo's one hundred- and-eighth birthday party inquired, once he had tracked down the elusive wizard. He was outside; it turned out, formerly enjoying a quiet moment and a smoke.  
  
"_My_ birthday?" the old wizard asked with a perplexed frown, looking more closely at the tiny Took lad that had taken the liberty of plopping himself down at his side.  
  
Pippin nodded, curls bouncing, scarcely able to contain his excitement at this chance to talk to Gandalf all alone. He clutched something small in both grubby hands and Gandalf could tell without asking that whatever mathom Bilbo had gifted him with, it was already quite precious to the lad.  
  
"Why do you wish to know, my lad?"  
  
Pippin looked down at his birthday gift with pride; "Well – Bilbo gives the best mathoms in the whole Shire, Gandalf, and that made me think about what you might give your friends on your birthday? I expect they're very nice, since you're a wizard - rather grand and special even."  
  
The little lad looked at him hopefully, and Gandalf let out a small sigh, wondering what visions were dancing through the mind of this inquisitive little thing. He didn't quite know what he could say without disappointing him. Even if he did have a birthday, he was hardly likely to spend it travelling throughout Middle-earth bestowing gifts on all his acquaintances, whether dear to him or not so.  
  
"It is a little difficult for me to give mathoms away on my birthday, Peregrin," he replied eventually, "since my wizardly duties take me quite far and wide. So, I normally give them out when I see my friends, rather than on a particular day." Yes, that was just the way to deal with this, he thought, his eyes twinkling.  
  
But this piece of information was of deep concern to Pippin; "Don't you get lonely, though?" he asked, eyes wide with worry, "If you don't see your friends, how do you celebrate?"  
  
"Don't you worry about that, now. Birthdays start to mean very little once you reach my age," Gandalf replied, smiling reassuringly at the young hobbit.  
  
"Oh, I don't think I shall ever be as old as you, Gandalf," Pippin declared earnestly, "You're even older than Bilbo, aren't you? You must be, of course, since he still likes giving parties, and you don't."  
  
Well, how to respond to that? Gandalf cleared his throat and looked down sternly at the bold little Took. But honest green eyes gazed back up at him and Gandalf laughed instead, wondering how long it would be before the lad would learn to think before he spoke. It certainly wouldn't be now, at any rate. He patted him gently on the knee, "Let's see what Bilbo gave you then, my lad."  
  
Pippin grinned, and he opened up his fingers and held out his hand for Gandalf to take a look. It was a tiny carved eagle, perched on a rock; its wings tucked in at its side and its head raised proudly. "Stories about the Eagles are my favourites," Pippin whispered, looking reverently at the beautifully carved and gleaming piece of wood.  
  
"Why is that, then?" Gandalf asked, curious in spite of himself as he examined the carving closely. "Wouldn't you rather hear about Smaug, or how clever your cousin was when he rescued the dwarves?"  
  
He gave Pippin back the little eagle, and the lad looked up at him, his eyes serious now. "Not really, Gandalf. I like those stories well enough of course, but the Eagle stories are the ones I like best, because - well, when they come along I know it will be all right, and nothing else bad will happen to Bilbo – at least, not for a while longer. Sometimes his stories are a bit too scary, you see-" he trailed off, glancing cautiously toward the open door, and then turned back quickly, frowning. "I see big birds sometimes, you know, flying overhead, and I wish I could talk to them and find out what they see from up there. Why don't all birds talk, though - why only the Eagles? And how did they learn to talk in the first place? Where do they really come from?"  
  
"Mercy!" Gandalf laughed, truly taken with this youngster. He had been well- named indeed, and all the stories Bilbo had filled his head with would certainly cause his parents some grief later on, for he saw in those green eyes a spark of something deeper than childish imagination. He wondered if this one might be destined to follow in the footsteps of some of his ancestors - and where his path would lead him, if he were.  
  
"Birds _do_ talk," he replied thoughtfully, as Pippin contemplated his gift once more. "But there are very few who understand them. Even I cannot claim to know the answers to all your questions, and the Eagles are old friends of mine."  
  
Pippin glanced up, "Yes, I know, Bilbo said so..." He looked at Gandalf curiously and the wizard sensed another question forming in the little one's eager mind. "What sort of mathoms do you give them, Gandalf? What do they like?"  
  
Gandalf chuckled, "We don't exchange mathoms, I'm afraid. Not everyone does, you know. We help each other out at need, and that is quite enough."  
  
"That's good," Pippin smiled. "It's nice to have friends who will help you when you're in trouble. Like when you're stuck up a tree. That happens to me sometimes," he added sympathetically. "I think I should like to be friends with an Eagle."  
  
"You don't need an Eagle to look after you, my lad. Besides, the ways of the Eagles are known only to themselves. Better to put your trust in those whom you love."  
  
"Oh, of course!" Pippin exclaimed, and then he frowned suddenly, "Merry wasn't much use last week, though. By the time he got me down it was past time for tea. He's such a Brandybuck when it comes to tree-climbing."  
  
"Well, he'll leave you to get yourself down next time, then," Merry retorted from the doorway. "There's more cake here, Pip - come and get some before it all goes."  
  
Pippin scrambled up eagerly and made to go after his cousin, but Gandalf put a restraining hand on his arm, "Let me give you my mathom, before you go, Peregrin - just in case I don't see you nearer my birthday."  
  
"A mathom?" Pippin squeaked in delight, "You have one for _me_?"  
  
"Just a little one."  
  
He gestured to the lad to watch as he puffed on his pipe and blew, the smoke forming into the shape of an eagle. Watching in awe, Pippin fancied that it flapped its wings once in greeting as it slowly soared into the sky, hovering over the field below, then vanishing from sight. He watched the space where it had disappeared for several moments, before turning to Gandalf with a wide smile.  
  
"Thank you, Gandalf," he said quietly, wrapping his arms as far around the wizard's shoulders as he could. "I hope you have a nice birthday - whenever it is."  
  
He trotted off to claim some cake, leaving Gandalf alone with his pipe once more, chuckling heartily to himself.


End file.
